


Euphemistically Speaking ...

by 2bbornot2bb



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:37:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4332357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2bbornot2bb/pseuds/2bbornot2bb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A silly little ficlet I wrote in response to a tumblr query about Jack’s warrant card which rapidly turned into something quite different, euphemistically speaking.  Written very quickly (at work - lol!) - and most definitely tongue-in-cheek -- as a knee jerk reaction to the newest Jack euphemism that *ahem* sprung up – “credentials".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Euphemistically Speaking ...

Jack’s credentials were impressive, even though he rarely flashed them around. He was a modest and honourable man, and averred from using his credentials to influence a woman, particularly someone like The Honourable Phryne Fisher. The quick flick of her glance to the clear outline of his credentials under the fine wool of the suit he wore was speculative. She wondered whether it was his inherent reserve that kept him from rarely displaying his imposing credentials, hiding his light – so to speak - under a bushel of understated charm. Or whether perhaps he knew the power behind them and chose to tease her. Phryne found her pulse beginning to quicken at the thought. Power was an aphrodisiac to some, but not usually to her, and for a moment she pondered her reaction to the contemplation of Jack’s credentials; the embodiment of his power over her. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had revealed the detail of his credentials in her presence; he so rarely brought them out for the world to see. Phryne’s hand hovered guiltily over her thigh, her featherlight touch of the small square of paper pressed firmly against her skin by a garter going unnoticed by the detective inspector, who sat so seriously self-composed on the other side of the desk. The photograph of Jack’s credentials she had sneaked that day when he tried to arrest her had become a something of a talisman, something that made her feel safe and warm when the nights grew long and cold. She looked forward to a time when she had memorised his credentials and no longer needed a copy as a reference. Facsimiles were just so … so …very unsatisfying. Her lips curved as she contemplated his reaction should she ever give in to the impulse to ask him for one more look right now.


End file.
